Bedtime Story
by We Get On
Summary: N asks for a story, and Black delivers, in the form of a fairy tale. N/Black.
1. Chapter 1

****A/N: Alrighty, this story is the fruit of an awful nagging in the back of my head to write something like this, so here we go. While the story is mostly planned out, I couldn't quite say how many chapters I'll end up with. On an unrelated note, I like to think that the switch from real life to fairy tale is obvious, but just as a note if there is any confusion (and please let me know if so), past tense and Japanese names are used in Black's story, with his speech in italics.****

**Warnings: Romance of the yaoi sort, drama, fluff; preemptively rated M for possible lemons in later chapters.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon.**

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><p>In any other situation, this would be the sort of thing that Black wouldn't be caught dead doing, mostly out of fear of being caught.<p>

N has a warmth about him, however, a warmth that he seems to pour into his surroundings at all times. It's a kind of golden warmth that Black likens to summer days spent on the sandy beaches of Undella Town, one that he fleetingly thinks sometimes could be directed toward only him one day. More importantly, it's a warmth that, when N lays next to Black, at times clutching his companion's shirt in what he strongly suspects is a non-spoken plea for Black to simply stay, is momentarily all his.

When N crawls into his bed at least a few times a week, then, no attempt is made on Black's part to stop him.

It isn't a romantic thing, of course. Black finds this to be an almost absurd concept; N, brought on by the same quality of his childhood that also means he reached puberty without a soul in the world to indulge in the turmoil of his formative years with, doesn't seem to quite understand human affection, let alone love. Rather, Black suspects the insistence to sleep in his bed has something to do with a few significant trust issues on N's part; of these he became aware of only the morning after N returned, having stepped downstairs to eat breakfast before N awoke and seeing all too clearly the worry in those gray eyes when not more than a half of an hour later N bounded into the kitchen in search of Black.

"I was afraid you'd left," he confessed later that night. Minutes later, he was asking if he could sleep in Black's bed, though the younger of the two knew well at the time that it was doubtful he could stop him.

In any case, it's _this_ sort of thing (Black doesn't like to call it '_spooning_,' as that word has more implications than he likes) that he's gotten used to since N showed up on his doorway months prior, alone and without a clue as to how to live a life not dedicated to fulfilling the purpose he was _born_ to fulfill.

Tonight is one of the nights when N holds Black tighter than usual, a situation that, despite the multiple claims of the latter that there's absolutely nothing romantic about this, he does find frustrating. He can feel N's breath on his neck – he's by now recognized the difference in the timing of N's breathing while awake and while asleep, and he knows definitely that N is awake.

"Black?" N's voice startles him only slightly, the quick murmur piercing the calm silence of Black's bedroom. In any case, Black is more than happy for something to take his mind off of the chest pressing firmly against his back.

"Yes?"

Black can both hear and feel a long sigh escape from N before he speaks again. "I've been feeling something...weird, lately, when I'm around you. I can't sleep and I need to know if you can, um..." N trails off, leaving the sentence unfinished and Black in suspense. It's not often that N speaks in such a fashion, his tone unsure and hesitant.

"If I can what...?" Black swallows. He is hardly sure he wants to know the answer to the question, but his constant, nagging worry about N prevents him from dropping the subject.

"I was wondering if you might tell me a story," N says so quickly that Black can hardly believe he's hearing correctly. Tell him _a story_? "I-it's juvenile, I know, but whenever I was upset as a child, or would throw a fit, Anthea would tell me a story and it would take my mind off of the bad."

The request is an odd one, even for N. Black finds himself speechless for a few long moments (he feels guilty about not saying anything right away, too, knowing that with each passing moment N is surely realizing the ridiculousness of the question, as well) before he finally chokes out the incredulous words, "Like a bedtime story?"

"Uh, yes." Black is given no time to reply, because N adds shortly, "I know it's likely a silly thing to ask for, I really do, Black. Please don't feel like I'm making you." Just like he can feel the soft tickle of N's words on the back of his neck, he's nearly sure he can feel a hot blush staining N's cheeks.

He can almost swear N's self-consciousness is seeping into his pores, too, a reminder that it's typically his own reactions that N gauges whether or not what he's doing is socially acceptable. This is unfortunate for both parties, of course, because Black ends up telling N bedtime stories or allowing himself to be cuddled with, and N is left with the impression that rather than Black simply being unable to say '_no_,' all of this is normal.

Finally, Black sighs, reaching a hand up to rub his temple. "O-of course I'll tell you a story, just...what kind of stories do you like?"

N smiles into Black's neck. "Happy ones!" he chirps.

"Alright, alright. Hm, a happy one..." A few long moments pass while Black thinks, the expectation for a story thick in the air. Eyes having long adjusted to the dark of the room, he spots a bold title among others sitting on his bookshelf. It's an old book, one which he hardly remembers still having. The story, however, is one that he still can recall murkily from his childhood; it's a fairy tale, one about a princess locked in a tower by an evil witch.

The exact details escape him, but Black dislikes the idea of telling the story exactly like it is, anyway – so he extemporizes.

xxx

"_Well, once upon a time, in a faraway land, there was a King and Queen. They were very much in love, with a baby on the way, and they ruled their kingdom fairly. When their child was born, the sages of their court called upon the Goddesses of Love and Peace to give the baby boy their blessings. The Goddess of Peace gave the boy the gift of innocence, seeing nothing more powerful or beautiful in the world, while the Goddess of Love gave him the gift of passion, for it is only through passion that one can love._

"_The kingdom rejoiced at the blessings of the Goddesses. One man, however, saw the potential that such gifts had to destroy. His name was Geechisu. In the dark of the night, he stole the child, and for years, he raised the child as his own. He called the boy N."_

_("But!" N protests, but Black only shushes him.)_

"_It's my story, let me tell it, alright? Anyway, the King and Queen searched endlessly for the child, but _Geechisu_ kept him locked away in a secluded tower, far from the kingdom's reach."_

A small lillipup sat before N. Its paw was wrapped in white bandage, a vestige of its appearance only days earlier. Geechisu had brought the pokemon to him a bruised mess ("Don't you see the horrible things that humans are capable of?" he'd said as he turned the pokemon over to N), and it seemed to have recovered nicely during its time with the lithe, green-haired young man.

He would never tell Geechisu, but N was almost saddened by this fact; it meant that the pokemon would be turned loose again. That was always how it was, at least. All of his father's stories about the outside world indicated that people generally kept – battled, participated in contests with – their pokemon until one outlived the other. He envied them, slightly.

If only people could live with pokemon peacefully, without barbaric practices like battles.

"_He was raised to hate the idea of pokemon and humans mingling, and through his sense of passion a hatred of humans in general was wrought. Though he'd never met one beyond Geechisu, he was taught that they were putrid, loathsome creatures."_

N mentally scolds himself; Geechisu taught him long ago that the truth and the ideal are stark contrasts of one another, never meant to mingle. "The ideal is unattainable, N," he would tell him sternly. "We must thus seek the best version of the truth that we are able." Admittedly, he was never quite sure what that statement meant, but it stayed in his brain through the years, ominous.

"What should we do today, little one?" he asked the lillipup before giving it a pat on the head and standing.

Hands on his hips, he took a glance around the large room that comprised most of his tower. It was his world; his universe. His knowledge of the outside extended to what he read in his books and the view from the tower window. N was not disturbed by this fact, though he did wish sometimes...

The lillipup stood suddenly and began to yap, trotting across the stone floor to the singular window on the other side of the room. He could guess what was approaching, but rushed over to the window and scanned the ground below, anyway. Immediately he recognized Geechisu nearing the tower.

It was only a matter of minutes before his father had climbed the staircase leading to the top of the tower and N was wrapping the man in a hug. It wasn't returned; rarely affection was.

"Lillipup looks well," Geechisu observed once he was rid of N's embrace. The statement brought a knot to N's throat. "Ah, yes," he added, seeming to remember something important as he glanced down to a package he'd set at his feet upon arriving. "That's for you."

Though N could hardly shake the almost-overwhelming sadness of lillipup's eventual departure, his mind was momentarily distracted by the gift. "Oh!" he exclaimed, the long, tea-green hair that typically fell at his mid-back flowing behind him as he nearly ran over to pluck up the parcel. "What is it?" N asked to no one in particular as he plopped himself on the floor to tear the paper away from the gift inside.

Contained inside were books; all were science- and math-related, as, unbeknownst to N, Geechisu found the world of fiction or philosophy too dangerous. Passion and innocence ought to be honed toward one specific purpose, and fiction, along with anything else too subjective, tended to muddle thoughts and intentions. He couldn't have that.

N was brimming with excitement as he placed them among the countless other books Geechisu had brought him over the years, all sitting in his ceiling-length monstrosity of a bookcase. Though there were many, he'd read and reread them many times. Having most of his time to himself within the tower meant that N had much of it to kill, after all.

The room spoke to that, of course. Toys from his childhood that he still rather enjoyed were numerous and scattered around, while the books that he was currently reading sitting out tipped the scale from '_messy_' to '_cluttered_.' He knew Geechisu didn't care for the clutter, and felt slightly discomfited as a result.

"Thank you!" N said as he spun around to face the older of the two, beaming.

That is, he was beaming until he realized that he'd wanted to speak to Geechisu about an issue nagging at him.

The man knew N well enough to recognize the deep-at-thought sort of expression on his face, and stepped forward to say with more meaning than N could recognize, "Thinking is a dangerous thing, N. What is it?"

"Oh, well..." N grew bashful at the prospect of sharing his thoughts, already with a notion of what he imagined the answer to what he'd been thinking would be. "I have been thinking about your ideas when it comes to pokemon; how we ought to free them. I know you've been working toward this, too, but...I want to help. And I _know_, I know what you've said about the world corrupting people, but I really do think I'm strong enough to hold my own."

"_More than anything else, N wanted to carry out his supposed father's ideals, but he would not let him leave his tower, telling him that he was not yet powerful enough. Innocence is easily corrupted, and with a whole world of distractions, Geechisu also feared that his passion might end up directed toward something different. N asked again and again to leave and help..."_

"N, you know how I feel about this," came the reply.

"_But the answer was always no."_

xxx

N clings to him tighter and murmurs something unintelligible and pained-sounding, prompting Black to stop talking for a moment. "N?"

No response is offered; he's fast asleep.


	2. Chapter 2

****A/N: Thanks for the kind reviews and favs on the last chapter! They do brighten my day.****

**Warnings: Romance of the yaoi sort, drama, fluff; preemptively rated M for possible lemons in later chapters.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Pokemon.**

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><p>Black wakes the next day with N still clinging tightly to him and the overwhelming urge to get away for a little while. It's not as if he wants to get away from N, specifically – this has more to do with what had been said to him the previous night only now permeating his consciousness.<p>

"_I've been feeling something...weird, lately, when I'm around you."_

What does that mean? It seems precarious no matter how he looks at it, even after taking into account that with a naïvete like N's, a double entendre or innuendo here or there is understandable enough.

In any case, the words not only permeate his consciousness but stubbornly stay there, their meaning ambiguous to Black. He knows only that it would be a lie to say he isn't feeling something similar, and he really ought to sort out his own thoughts before he brings it back up (though ideally, he could simply squeeze it out of his brain like water in a sponge). This, of course, involves finding a way to separate himself from N for a day – his first and only idea is to go to Nimbasa, claiming a whim to challenge the Battle Subway struck him.

Naturally, his plan backfires; N finds the idea of battling pokemon simply for the sake of battling to be an immensely appalling concept, and insists that he come along for moral guidance.

Black, at first, doesn't budge on the matter, telling N firmly that his mind is made up, thus he might as well not tag along ("the pokemon enjoy it, anyway," he adds as sort of a pleading afterthought). When it becomes clear that N fully intends to go with him, Black resorts to leveling with the separatist, insisting that he doesn't need to be with him at the Battle Subway. "I heard there's a tennis match today. Why don't you watch that while you wait for me?" he even suggests.

Somehow, however, Black ends up at the Nimbasa Fairground with N at his side. Both nowhere near the Battle Subway, N leads the way toward the far end of the place.

"Do you remember when we were last here?" he asks Black abruptly, hushed voice clipped. As the younger of the two gazes up at the giant ferris wheel looming high above, he can do nothing but wonder if that is, perhaps, a trick question. Of course he remembers the last time they rode the metal monstrosity; if he thinks hard enough, he can even recall the glint that shone in N's eye as he told him with urgency that he was the King of Team Plasma.

Above all else, Black remembers not being entirely sure how to handle the information and staying silent to avoid letting his mouth betray him, feeling foolish in spite of himself.

"Yeah," he replies solemnly, climbing into the open car of the ferris wheel. "I do."

N makes sure to sit as close as humanly possible to his companion despite a whole bench being available across from the pair, apparently unaware that most people would mind the invasion of personal space. Black strongly suspects this fact, like most of the sort, is at least partly due to his never telling N otherwise; as usual, he makes no effort to correct it.

Black does wonder why N's natural instinct is to be close. Perhaps it's years of neglected contact bubbling to the surface now, and he's the easiest remedy to such a problem; the idea that maybe it's more to do with Black than anything drifts lazily through his mind, but he immediately chokes such a notion.

"Can you tell me the rest of that story?" N asks abruptly, a welcome interruption to Black's thoughts; he neglects the view of the city from his window to look at him. The question is unexpected, seeing as Black completely forgot about the previous night's fairy tale prior to that moment, and it reads on his face as he raises an eyebrow, though he's not necessarily surprised at the content of the question itself.

Naturally N would want to hear the rest.

With a small sigh, he asks, "Where did we leave off last night?"

A smile growing at getting his way, N replies eagerly, scooting even closer to Black in anticipation, "Where I – er, N, wanted to leave his tower." At once, the smile falls, and a thoughtful look grows. "This story will get happy, eventually, right? It wasn't very happy last night..."

He's correct, but Black still feels the need to point out that "it didn't get happy because you fell asleep!" Rather than bickering, which the pair ends up doing every time Black observes what he sees as a logical fallacy and N disagrees, he doesn't give them a chance, immediately jumping in to the story.

xxx

"_So we've got that N wants to leave and Geechisu won't allow it?"_

_(N nods impatiently.)_

"_Well, N decided to take matters into his own hands. He saw the separation of pokemon and people as a pressing matter, one that was worsening each day, without his help. His tower was by no means locked up tight; the only thing that kept N there was his knowledge that he would never be able to navigate the kingdom alone. Yet, it was days before an idea finally occurred to him."_

It was early, and the birds were chirping. A regular practice of N's was to set out the bread crumbs left over from breakfast for the pidove – he had a suspicion that Geechisu wouldn't care for such a thing, given it was dangerously close to voluntarily inviting a bond between human and pokemon, but he also thought it was nice to give something back for their warbling song. It wasn't as if his father could find out, anyway; Geechisu visited his son around the same time midday, every day.

"Come here," he cooed to the pidove sitting at his windowsill, which was pecking at the crumbs he'd left. It froze, giving N just enough time to, in one swift motion, pick the pokemon up with both hands. Though he was as gentle as he could manage, the pidove still squirmed and moved to peck at him. "Shh, I don't want to hurt you," he said softly, smoothing down the feathers on its head gingerly.

The bird calmed, but still looked up at N with hesitance. "I have a favor to ask of you. Do you know of any trustworthy and capable humans?" A trustworthy human was an oxymoron, to be sure, but N thought that, perhaps, there was one out there who had yet to betray their trust between other living creatures (that part was inevitable, of course).

The pidove let out a few chirps that N understood to be a 'yes.'

"_N fabricated a letter, within it claiming that he and his lillipup had been kidnapped by an evil wizard, one who intended to kill the pair within the week. Though these were lies, they worked. By morning the next day, and long before Geechisu would arrive, the pidove that had delivered the letter led a human back to N's tower."_

"Hello?" An unfamiliar voice rang out from the base of the tower. It was the second human voice N had ever heard, and in the back of his head, he couldn't help but think that it was quite pleasant.

Within seconds, N was at his windowsill, gazing down at his 'savior.' Judgments were hardly accurate from the height he was at, but the young man definitely had brown hair shorter than his own and a composure that was not nearly as intimidating as N might have guessed. "H-hello," he called out, forgetting for a moment that he was supposed to be in danger. "Help me, please!" N added, not altogether convincingly.

The man placed his hands on his hips as he stepped toward the entrance to the tower – a large, aged wooden door. At once N realized that it must be locked up tight.

This hardly fazed him; he promptly produced a small, spherical thing from his belt, about the size of an apricorn – oh.

N felt a flush rise to his cheeks as a braviary materialized from the pokeball and its trainer gave the order to fly; so this human was no better than the rest. With a sinking feeling sitting low in his stomach, he immediately regretted sending that stupid letter, or ever thinking a _human_ could be trusted.

"_Unfortunately, his means of escape came in the form of a pokemon trainer. This upset N, but he knew that to leave his tower, he would have to play along as if he was grateful."_

Playing along was not as easy as N had imagined. Lying via letter was easy, sure, but he'd never actually had the occasion to lie to another person's face. It, like most aspects of human interaction, was a new concept only now crossing his mind.

Thus N was skittish as the trainer swooped in on the bird, backing up a few steps until he almost tripped over lillipup, and then scrambling to reach down and scoop up the pokemon. He held it against his chest protectively, as if the small thing could protect him from whatever horrors such a despicable person would surely inflict upon him. His chest rose up and down dramatically, eyes wide, manner reading anything but 'grateful.'

The trainer seemed understandably confused at this. For a few long moments he stood at the window, his eyebrows knit together as he gazed at N. It was quiet.

That is, until the trainer's face melted into a grin; he chuckled. "I'm here to rescue you, I guess," said the young man. N remembered his purpose at this statement and decided then to make a conscious effort to do what he could to seem not so visibly afraid.

"_It was difficult."_

"Y-yes, of course," N said, approaching the trainer with a caution he couldn't keep out of his step. "I am in your debt." The trainer was for whatever reason prompted to reach out his hand expectantly, eyes fixed on N as if he was supposed to do something. The gesture was, naturally, foreign to him.

N narrowed his eyes. After a bit of awkward silence the trainer seemed to realize his hand would not be shaken, and he let it fall back to his side awkwardly. "Um. In any case, my name is Touya, of Kanoko Town." As N pondered what an odd surname that was and returned with his own (last name excluded, for he hardly wanted to implicate Geechisu), he for the first time has the opportunity to really look at the trainer.

He didn't _look_ like a monster. Touya's eyes were only a slightly darker brown than his hair, which was considerably shorter than N's. In fact, he had a kind-looking face; none of his features were especially harsh. Rather, N actually found both his manner and appearance to be agreeable enough.

As N observed the trainer, Touya seemed to for the first time become conscious of the room around him.

"_The trainer's name was Touya. Though N didn't like him for what he was almost immediately, he found that Touya did not act like the monster Geechisu told him all trainers were."_

"Oh, Arceus, this place is amazing!" he exclaimed, rushing over to examine the numerous volumes on N's bookshelf.

How peculiar. N quirked a brow; Geechisu had told him many times that those outside were mostly plebs, uninterested in the sciences and mathematics, and Touya seemed to fit the description of a common person well enough. "You're well-read?" he couldn't help but ask, knowing that he really ought to be pushing for the two to leave quickly rather than making conversation, a tinge of hopefulness lining his tone.

Running a finger along the binding of an especially old book, the brunet gave a noncommittal answer: "Well-read might not be the best word, but I do read when I can." N looked (and was) pleased, and that grin appeared on Touya's face again.

Despite the boy being a pokemon trainer, and N holding a near-automatic dislike for him, he decided that he did like that smile.

xxx

Black isn't sure what possesses him to do it. Perhaps it's the precedent they've set of the car of the ferris wheel being a sort of cleansing place for the two, where they can simply open up, though that reasoning would imply that he actually admits to something. Oh, no. The thought of spitting up the words he's been choking down makes Black's stomach lurch.

Maybe it's how close N is, surely a product of insecurity; if anything, he could use some security in his life.

He strongly suspects it's the latter that possesses him to reach a hand over and thread his fingers through N's; he likes to think that's what it is, anyway.

"What does that mean?" N asks suddenly, cutting off Black's story.

"What?"

"This." He looks down at where Black is holding his hand, and then up at his companion once more. Only now does Black notice that a blush has crept across N's cheeks, and he adds with a tone somehow paced more quickly than normal, "I see people with their hands like this often, but what is supposed to symbolize?"

N's words make Black shift uncomfortably, a sense of sadness filling him to the brim. Regardless of how many times N asks questions like these, he can't get used to it – after all, being naïve is one thing, but completely different to show a complete lack of knowledge regarding the way humans interact.

It's not as if Black finds this aggravating; it's just one of those painful facts that he wishes he could change, because N deserves so much more, and Black isn't sure he could ever live up to that. "Uhm, it's kind of a way that people show affection, I guess," he finally says, making sure to keep sadness from his voice.

"Hm," N replies, growing thoughtful. "I...I like this."

"Me too."


End file.
